


Be Still, My Beating Heart

by Anialaaa



Category: Twilight (Movies), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: AU, Angst, Bella just needs a good hug, Death, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, No edward, Parent Death, surprise Mike's dad plays a surprisingly large role?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-01-07 04:53:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18403490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anialaaa/pseuds/Anialaaa
Summary: "Blindly, I groped my way out of the bedroom, pulling the door shut behind me with an echoing slam. I threw open the last door, not exactly knowing what to expect, but needing something other than the comfort I was finding in a dead man's room. I stepped inside, the wedding photo still clutched against my heart, and was on my knees in an instant."--Bella lives a quiet life with her mother in Phoenix, AZ when she finds a letter explaining that her estranged father was killed in the line of duty. Distraught that she never had a chance to know him, Bella makes a split second decision to travel to Forks.





	1. Dust

Dust is an interesting metaphor for the passage of time. It can mark time silently and unobtrusively; easily recognized by all cultures, and just as easily washed away. So when I found the letter tucked into the side table of my mother's dresser, I knew by the amount of dust covering the front that a significant amount of time had passed since it had last been touched.

My mother had deliberately kept my father's death from me. Not that I really knew him, He left him when I was just a toddler. I have only vague memories of him, nothing to truly mourn. Which is why I couldn't understand why I was shaking so bad as I unfurled the letter from the Fork's Police Department. He had died in the line of duty, a heart attack chasing down a suspect. I tried to picture his face, anything about him, but only shapes remained.

When I confronted her about it, my voice took on this strange strained quality, like I was trying to speak through a muted microphone. My face felt tight and flushed, and the shaking of the letter was audible as I struggled to keep my hand still.

"Mom," I said, grimacing at how upset I sounded. "What is this."

She was sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through a People Magazine. She looked lazily over her shoulder, seeing the letter in my hand. If she had any reaction to it, I certainly didn't see it.

"Issy, why are you looking through my things." She spoke to the glossy pages, rather than to me.

"Why didn't you tell me Charlie died." It wasn't even a question, mostly because I didn't expect an answer.

"Bella, he wasn't a father to you!" She turned around now, facing me with her blazing angry eyes. "Where was he when you graduated high school? When you had your ballet recital? When you started kindergarten? He was not your father! He left you!" There was no point in arguing when she got like this. It had always been me and her since I can remember. We've always been a team, so it surprised even me when angry tears started to fall from my eyes.

"Yes Bella, get upset, because that always solves everything." She scoffed angrily and turned back to her magazine. "Get out of my face." Her low voice in contrast with the explosive anger scared me, and I scurried back upstairs to my bedroom. The letter was still clutched in my sweaty hand.

I closed the door quietly behind me, and swiped at the tears in my eyes. It would do no good to cry. I laid the letter reverently on my bedspread, and sat with my head in my hands. I knew nothing about my father, or my former father I suppose. I only knew he had come home one night and ordered my mother out of the house. She packed what she could carry, fearing for her life and mine, and in the cover of night we were gone.

With slowly drying eyes, I gazed out my window onto the Phoenix suburb we lived in. The sun was just beginning to set, and an orange glow cast into my bedroom. I wanted to know more, I needed to understand why a man who had never been in my life was suddenly gone.

I was 18 now, a senior in high school. I had school in the morning, and my packed backpack sat at the foot of my bed. I reached down to pull my homework out, and before I realized what was happening, I had emptied it completely. My school things on the floor, I stood and walked to my closet.

I am not sure why I did it, or why the compulsion to learn more about my father was so strong, but within a few hours, I had packed my backpack with a few outfits, my MacBook, and a book, and was making my way downstairs. I had the letter from the Forks Police Department stuffed in my back pocket, and my phone out, buying a flight to Tacoma, Washington. I stood at the bottom of the steps, watching my mother for a few moments, she turned around to face me.

"Where are you going?" She asked, a current of anger still vibrated under her words.

"I'm going to go study with James. We have a quiz on Mansfield Park tomorrow." The lie rolled easily off my tongue, as it had for so many years. When I pulled the front door shut behind me, I idly wondered when I would see her again, and was surprised to find out that I didn't care.

It took two buses and a couple miles walking to reach the airport, which gave me time to reflect on my decision. Panic rolled through my chest at what I had just done, my mind was racing, and it was still a few more hours before my midnight flight. I think the nice woman who checked me in noticed how bad I was shaking, but she didn't say anything, thank god. I felt like any moment I was going to crack and run back home, apologizing to my mother, and promising to never speak about my father again.

I settled down at the gate for my flight, and pulled out my copy of Jane Austen's Mansfield Park. I truly did have a quiz tomorrow on it, whether or not I actually made it to class. It eased my mind some to identify with poor Fanny, leaving the only home she'd ever known to go live with complete strangers, and by the time my flight boarded, I was beginning to feel better about my choices.

It didn't take long for me to fall asleep, and before I knew it, I was waking up over San Francisco for my first layover. It was early, the sun was just starting to rise, and I spent my short moments in California gazing out the massive bay windows watching planes take off and land. I wondered where these people were going, and whether they felt as awful as I did.

I'm not one to make spur of the moment decisions, more often than not I overthink things to the point where I have talked myself out of it. Even in San Francisco, a thousand miles away from my mother's home in Phoenix, I was still uncertain if I made the right decision. I pulled the thin MacBook from my bag and checked my email while I waited for my flight to board. I was curious if my mother had reached out to me, as my phone had remained silent thus far. Nothing. I checked one more time to be sure and put it away.

I was still sitting on the crumpled letter in my back pocket, and I pulled it out once more to inspect it. It was typed on official letterhead, and it skillfully conveyed the condolences of the entire department, signed in a messy script by an Arthur Nylund. I hadn't really given much thought to what I would do once I arrived in Forks, but the return address on this letter seemed like a good place to start.

The gate attendant called my boarding group, and I hastily stuff the letter back in my pocket before grabbing my bag. I probably should have packed more, or brought something bigger, but I was so thankful when I saw people trying to stuff oversized luggage into the overhead compartment. For the second time in 12 hours, I fell asleep before we had even taxied down the runway. Running away is exhausting.

* * *

It was a warm overcast afternoon when we finally landed in Seattle/Tacoma. I was able to escape the airport quickly, not having checked any luggage. It was going to take two long buses to travel the five hours up the Olympic peninsula to Forks. I was thankful that I never got carsick, and pulled my battered copy of Mansfield Park back out. I delighted in hearing about this large but loving group of relatives that lived in the country side. I daydreamed that I would be able to find the happiness that Fanny had, living in the attic above the park, surrounded by her books.

It was hard to read for too long, the road out to the peninsula was breathtakingly beautiful. I spent a good portion of the ride with my forehead pressed against the window, trying to take it all in. At some point, my thoughts drifted to what it would have been like to have lived with both my father and my mother. I reached up and touched my face to find it wet.

There was never a point where I wished for a normal family. My mother and I were a team, we always had been and I never wanted anything different. Sure, we had our hard days, any parent and child did, but it was just fine. I spent most of my time alone, and I liked it that way. I was always more interested in books, than other people. But now, I was aching for a man I didn't know, for a life surrounded by a big loving family. For someone who cared enough to call me when I didn't come home for 24 hours.

Renee was never the touchy freely type, we expressed our love in the form of adventures. We spent every summer break and school holiday on the road. Recently, as I focused more on high school, it became harder to travel as much as we used to. It felt good to be on the road again, regardless of the fact that I was alone.

By the time I finished crying, the bus was slowing down, and pulling into an empty depot. This was it, the end of the line. As I stepped out, I wish I had thought to bring a heavier jacket, drizzle landed in my hair in delicate drops and I didn't have a hood to cover it. I pulled the letter out again, shielding it under a bus shelter, reading the return address on the envelope. According to the map application on my phone, it wasn't far from here. In fact, nothing was far from here. Forks was absolutely tiny.

I set off, stuffing my headphones in my ears to block out the noise of my doubting mind. The walk to the police station was stunningly gorgeous, and for almost dinner time, the town seemed to be buzzing with pedestrians. By the time I had reached the station, three people had already smiled at me. Christ, small town people were weird.

My heart was racing and my ears were flooded with the sound of my pulsing heartbeat, and by the time I pulled the door open I was a wreck. The interior was small, a few cubicles and a receptionist sitting at a beautiful redwood desk.

"Can I help you?" She asked kindly, and I stared at her like an idiot, Arthur Nylund's letter hanging damply in my hand. It took a moment before my stiff, awkward legs carried me to her desk.

"Um, I'm Bella," I began dumbly, "Bella Swan, and-" I didn't get the next sentence out before a flash of recognition crossed her face, and I flinched at her grief.

"You must be Charlie's girl." She said, her hand covering her mouth. Her eyes filled with tears, and I didn't think it was possible to be even more uncomfortable than I was in that moment.

"Let me go get Arthur, just...just uh, take a seat." She said, motioning towards the orange plastic chairs that lined the wall. She was out of her seat and returning with a tall, balding man before I even had a chance to sit down.

"Arthur this is Bella," she reached her hand toward me, and then added in a softer voice, "Charlie's Bella."

Arthur gave me a knowing, sad smile before reaching out to take my hand.

"Bella, it's so good to see you." He griped my hand like it was a life line. Although he didn't say it, I heard a silent 'again' at the end of his sentence. I was beginning to panic again. What happens next? Did I come all this way just to shake hands with a man who wrote me a letter about my father? I didn't have courage to ask him anything, so I nodded, smiling so he wouldn't think I was weird. My mind was racing, and my pulse was faster and louder than I ever thought was possible.

"Bella," he snapped my out of my dazed state, "would you like to come with me for a moment?" He smiled a kind smile, the kind of smile I imagined a father would give his daughter. Logically, I just met this man, and I knew nothing about him, getting in a car and going anywhere with him was not the smartest idea. Then again, neither was flying 2,000 miles to the Pacific Northwest to see a town that a man I didn't know lived in. I nodded, not trusting my mouth to speak.

"Nance, will you let the boys know where I've gone? I'll be back in a few." Arthur said, placing a hand on my shoulder and leading me out of the office. The teary eyed woman nodded, and returned to her seat with a heavy sigh.

Arthur led me out of the small police station and into a cruiser parked in front of the building. We drove in silence for a few minutes until the awkwardness got to be too much for him, and he cleared his throat before speaking.

"I'm sorry about my wife," he said gently, "Nancy can be a bit emotional at times." He glanced at me, I assumed to gauge my reaction.

"You've grown so much since we've seen you." He continued, and I fought to keep back a grimace.

"Uh," I had to clear my throat of emotion before continuing, "Thank you."

"Charlie was a good man," he said, his face seemed pinched in pain. I had to close my eyes to keep tears from spilling out. After a few short moments, I felt the car begin to slow, and I opened my eyes. We slowly parked in front of a modest Victorian home, with a rusted orange truck parked in the driveway. The house looked like it hadn't been touched in a long time, paint was chipping off the siding, and at least two of the window shutters were hanging on one hinge. It was surrounded on three sides by majestic Douglas fir trees, and I felt a weird pull in my chest.

"Is this..." I trailed off, hoping Arthur would understand what I meant. He nodded.

"We've left it the same, we weren't sure what to do with it." I got out of the cruiser, my legs felt numb and wiggly. The driveway crunched under my feet as I reached the rear of the old truck. I placed a hand on the beast, almost lovingly.

Arthur plodded up to the front porch through wet grass, and unhooked a key from a large key ring.

"I supposed this is yours now," he said handing me the key, "you were the only family he had."

I slipped the key into the lock, and turned, opening the door slowly. A smell unlike anything I could describe reached my nose, the only word for it was home. I turned to Arthur, who shuffled awkwardly on the porch.

"I'll uh, leave you to it." He said. "If you need anything, me and the boys at the station as available anytime." I nodded, still silent.

He turned to walk away, and only made it off the first step before turning back. "Everyone loved your father Bella, we are all so sorry to see him go." Tears immediately spilled from my eyes, before I could stop them. The emotion of the last 24 hours were so overwhelming that it took everything I had to remain standing. Arthur Nylund closed the distance between us and pulled me into a hug. He patted my back awkwardly, trying to console this crying teen in his arms.

When he finally pulled away, I wiped at my eyes. "Thank you." I said, my voice stronger now.

"Call if you need anything," he said, "we'll be around."

With that, he returned to his vehicle and pulled away from the house. I stood on that porch for a long time after he left, not ready to go inside. It seemed insane to me that at the same time yesterday, I had been standing in my mothers kitchen, holding a letter that said half of who made me is dead. I was never a person who made irrational decisions, I didn't do things like this. Yet, hear I was standing on a strangers porch, waiting to go inside and find out who my dad really was.

"Well," I said to myself, "here I am." I stepped across the threshold.


	2. Guinea Pig

 

I had a friend once who had this guinea pig. She took the noisy thing with her everywhere, keeping it stuffed in her pocket, feeding it scraps from her lunch. It eventually grew too big to fit in her pocket, the thing was over a foot long at this point. I hated that beast, but she looked at it like it was the sun and the moon and everything in between. So when it died a few months later, this girl was totally and completely distraught about it. She invited everyone over to have a funeral for the poor thing, where she was going to slowly lower its bloated body into the ground.

There was only one problem, she lived in a luxury apartment in Phoenix, the only soil her family had was a flower pot on the patio. So, naturally, she gathered everyone up to walk to the park at midnight to bury the damn thing. There we stood, freezing our asses off while this girl dug a hole for a dead guinea pig with her mother's tiny flower shovel. She even had a painted headstone for it and everything. When we finally got back to the apartment, I asked her what she wanted to do with the cage and all the junk she bought for it over the years. She only shrugged and dumped it all down the garbage chute in the hall.

So when I stepped into my fathers house for the first time, I was so thankful that guinea pig girl wasn't around when he died. Everything remained entirely untouched, albeit covered in a thick blanket of dust. To my right, there was a small table that people would typically leave mail and keys and things on. On it laid a single key chain with two keys and a worn leather fob. I easily assumed these to be his truck keys, and I pocketed them for later.

I made my way further into the house, disrupting tiny flurries of dust with my fingers. I couldn't stop touching things, like an unsupervised child in a china shop. I traced the walls with my hands, bumping into photos of my smiling mother, and an infant I can only assume to be myself. There were dozens of them, and no pictures of Charlie. Around every corner, I would find another toothless Bella in a cheap convenience store frame.

Since before I can remember, my mother told the same story about how my father left, and she always told it in this exasperated tone.

"Bella," she would say, "You know how it happened." And I did know how it happened, or at least I thought I did.

"When you were just a baby," she began, "you father worked very hard to support us. He worked a lot of hours at the station, but he was just a young cadette." I tried to picture him now, with the slobbery infant in all the photos.

"He was so overworked," she would say, getting emotional here, "He couldn't take it. He came home one night and said he couldn't handle it anymore." I gently fingered one of those cheesy professional baby portraits, where I was asleep on a giant foam letter 'B'.

"I thought maybe he would just be gone for a few hours," Renee always looked down at her hands here, her voice taking on this weird, low quality. "I moved back in with my parents after two weeks, and we've been here ever since." She would pat my knee and tell me to go out and play or something, and I would always sit outside on the side walk, imagining this great muscular man coming home after all those years. He would sweep my mother off of her feet, and I would cling to his legs and we would cry and cry. I would have brothers and sisters, and Renee wouldn't yell so much and it would all be the way it was supposed to be.

And yet, I stood in my father's living room, surrounded by ghosts of some other life I had lived, and I couldn't remember why I had imagined him all those times. My chest began to tighten, and I gripped that stupid department store photo in my sweaty hand. My eyes burned, and the world around me started to blur. I let out a ragged sob, and pressed the photo to my chest, swiping at the tears threatening to fall with the back of my free hand.

It took a few moments, but the tightness in my chest loosened and I returned the photo to its spot beside the couch. I worked my way into the dining room, where I found bits and pieces of decoration that I can only assume to be my mothers. A hand crocheted doily in the center of the breakfast table, flower patterned curtains, and an empty rose vase on the windowsill. The kitchen was fairly clean for a bachelor pad.

I had seen the staircase when I first walked in, but it looked like I had run out of places to explore on the lower level, and would have to venture up the stairs. As I made my way up, I imagined the tiny toddler version of myself attempting to get up and down these wooden steps. I smiled, imagining my already clumsy legs navigating the intricate planks. I pictured what it would be like to have Charlie at the top of the stairs, encouraging the fat little toddler. For a moment, I almost thought I was going to reach the top of the stairs and wrap myself in the arms of a man I never met.

The first door at the top of the stairs was a bathroom, sparse but clean. After that, two closed doors remained, and I knew one of them would be Charlie's room. I didn't want to go inside, but I knew a part of me wouldn't have closure if I didn't at least look. I prayed to whatever benevolent God would allow me to open the door and not find some horrific secret inside.

In the end, I picked the doorway on the right. As I pushed my way into the room, the smell of home that had greeted me when I first entered the house increased tenfold. Suddenly I was swaddled in warmth and comfort and it nearly took me off my feet. The room was simple, a bed, a dresser, a side table, but it was the photo on the side table that caught my eye.

My mother stood beaming into an invisible camera, dressed in a beautiful white gown, with intricately curled hair framing her soft face. The man standing next to her was so familiar that I had to remind myself that the last time I saw him, I was shitting myself and constantly had to have someone clean the drool off my chin. I saw my oblong nose reflected in his face, my deep, brown eyes gazing back at me under thick, bushy eyebrows.

I didn't notice how hard it was becoming to breath until I reached for the photo. My father was standing next to my mother, holding her tightly against his chest so her hair spilled over his chin. He was an attractive young man, and I understood what Renee saw in him. His face was unbelievably kind and trustworthy, and I knew he must have made an excellent cop with a face like that.

Blindly, I groped my way out of the bedroom, pulling the door shut behind me with an echoing slam. I threw open the last door, not exactly knowing what to expect, but needing something other than the comfort I was finding in a dead man's room. I stepped inside, the wedding photo still clutched against my heart, and was on my knees in an instant.

I was in a world of pink, surrounded by lace. A crib remained to my right, overlooking the spacious backyard. There was a changing table covered with boxes of unused diapers, and the floor was scattered with sealed boxes marking "Bella" or "Renee." Tears were falling freely now, leaving dark spots on my pants. Breathing was becoming extraordinarily difficult, and I found myself curled up on the floor, surrounded by things for a baby that had long since grown up.

I heaved loud, shuddering breaths, and soon I was sobbing inconsolably. Simultaneously, I understood everything and did not understand anything. My father had kept everything exactly the way it was when my mother left. My mother was the one who left. My entire life in Phoenix was a lie. She had left him. I was so confused and angry, hot tears soaked the carpet under my temple. The wedding photo was sill clutched in my hand, but the flood of tears kept my vision too obscured to see it. Still, I ran my grubby fingers across the plastic frame, feeling its age with every pass.

It took a long time for me to calm down. I cried like an infant for a long time, loud and unceasing. The exhaustion of the day, the anger I felt for my mother, the grief for a father I never knew, it was enough to drive me into primal state. I left purple crescent moons in my palms where I clutched and pounded my fists against the carpet. When I finally fell asleep, my mouth was gaping open, breathing hard. Snot ran down my face, mixing with tears to cake my skin with salt. My face was so tight and inflamed that I stayed on the carpet just to feel the coolness of the floor. I slept fitfully that night, but unwilling to move myself from this nursery bedroom.

* * *

 

The next morning I felt infinitely better. The tight anxiety that rested in my chest since I had left Phoenix had loosened, and I began to feel slightly more comfortable here in my father's house.  _My_ house, I reminded myself.

I stayed in the bedroom for a few minutes after I woke up, laying on the floor. I traced the edges of the room with my eyes, trying to see if I could remember anything about being in this place. I knew I must have laid like this often when I was little, just staring at the ceiling, waiting.

Eventually, my need for caffeine won out, and I slowly stood, stretching my sore back. In retrospect, the floor was not the best place to spend the night on. I padded down the stairs, still wearing the same clothes as the day before, and ventured into the kitchen with the vain hope of finding coffee.

Empty. I supposed that now is no better time than any to head to the grocery store. I remembered that Charlie's keys to his truck were still in my pocket from the night before, I fingered them gently, running my thumb over the worn leather fob. It took a few tries, but the old behemoth eventually started, and I made quick work of finding Fork's only grocery store.

Pulling into the crowded parking lot, it took me a few minutes to realize it was a Saturday. Moms and their kids were pilling into and out of cars, carrying loads of groceries packed into brown bags. I felt like I had stepped into a time machine, looking 40 or 50 years into the past. Everyone was all smiles, despite the gloomy drizzle that seemed ever permanent. To be honest, their easy cheeriness frightened me.

I pulled my hood over my head, and crossed the parking lot quickly. Once inside, I left my hood up, hoping to protect myself against whatever jovial disease these happy townsfolk seemed to have contracted. Finding the coffee was the easy part, but I spent the better part of an hour wandering the food isles, a basket hanging from the crook of my elbow.

I had never really eaten alone before, I was always cooking for Renee and me. I was at a loss for what to buy, eventually settling on a loaf of bread, some peanut butter, and two boxes of frozen waffles, and coffee grounds obviously. I wandered through the produce department, knowing that I needed at least some sort of nutritious addition to my basket.

While I stood dumbly in front of an impossibly large display of different varieties of apples, a woman's arm crossed into my field of vision.

"Oh," I said, backing out of her way immediately, "sorry." The woman turned to look at me, smiling and tucking a lock of hair behind her ears. Her brown eyes were warm and kind, and it made my stomach twinge, thinking of the wedding photo on the floor of the nursery.

"No, no," she said, waving her hand dismissively, clutching an apple. "Its my fault." She gestured towards the apple, "the kids only want Honey-crisps."

There was an awkward moment when I took a step back to let the woman in, the basket on my arm clipped a guacamole display and sent the plastic packages tumbling to the floor. The woman turned around, apple still in her hand. I let out an awkward noise, something like a gasp or a chuckle, and was immediately on the floor trying to rectify the mess. Thankfully none of the packages had opened upon falling, trying to clean up the green goopy mess would be too much for me to attempt in my current state.

I had most of the packages back on the stand when I turned around and found the woman smiling at me kindly.

"Um…have a good day," and I scurried away from her, around the next corner. I nearly broke down in tears again, but held it together long enough to queue up behind another family in line for the checkout. The young man scanning my items tried too hard to make conversation, and I am sure I seemed rude ignoring him.

I was just beginning to pull out of the crowded parking lot when I saw the woman again, accompanied by a girl just a bit younger than me. They were unloading a basket into a ridiculously nice Audi. I must have slowed down visibly because the heart-shaped faced woman glanced up again me again, and half raised her hand. Her smile was enough for me to step on the accelerator a bit too hard, and I jolted out of the parking lot.

Everyone was so nice here.

I swallowed thickly and focused on trying to navigate my way back home. Forks was small enough, but Charlie's house was off an unmarked road, and I was worried I would miss the turn off. I was sitting at a stop sign in downtown, watching a group of teenagers cross in the crosswalk in front of me, when I saw the "help wanted" sign in the window of the Newton's Olympic Outfitters.

A thought ran through me, I could stay here. I hadn't really considered what I was going to do once I got to Forks. Going back to Phoenix didn't seem like much of an option, and I chided myself for not really thinking it through. I glanced at the grocery bag in the seat next to me, I was going to run out of money at some point.

The teenagers had finished crossing the street, so I pulled ahead and found a parking spot along the crowded downtown strip. I looked at my day-old outfit, and wished I had thought to change before I left the house.

I pushed the door open into the outdoors store, the smell of saw dust and age greeting me once I crossed the threshold. A tiny bell rang above me as I let the door close, signaling to an aging man that I had entered.

"Good morning!" He called out to me from the cash register. He leaned on a glass display of knives, his eyes twinkled with a warm smile.

"Hi," I said, realizing I didn't really know how to continue from here. I half-turned around, gesturing to the general direction of the help wanted sign in the front window.

"I saw the sign…" I trailed off, starting to feel like perhaps bolting for the front door was my best option. The older man smiled and nodded, taking the pressure off the awkward exchange.

"You're here for the job." He gave a knowing smile, and I relaxed a fraction. He stood up from his leaning position to cross to the front of the counter. "I need a day manager," he continued.

I nodded, trying not to seem to eager.

"Can you make a schedule?" He asked, and it didn't seem as accusing as I expected it to.

"Yes," I replied, hoping he didn't expect me to elaborate.

"Can you be here at 9 tomorrow?" he asked, leaning back against the counter, crossing his arms. His smile twinkled mischievously.

"Yeah" I said a bit too quickly, too eager. He reached out his hand, gesturing for a handshake.

"Welcome onboard…" he trailed off, waiting for me to supply my name.

"Bella," I answered, pride swelling in my chest. I just got a job. I could make a life here in Forks, I wouldn't have to leave if I didn't want to.

"Bella." He repeated. Recognition flashed in his eyes, but he didn't say any more than that. I was exceedingly grateful, I wasn't sure I was going to be able to hold it together if the circumstances were different.

I turned to leave and he shouted back at me, "Don't be late." I waved and pulled the door shut behind me, the tiny bell tinkling.

Walking back to my truck, I felt good about my decision to leave Phoenix for the first time since saying goodbye to my mother. I felt grown up and real, I had a job and a house and coffee. I drove back home, elation making my arms and legs tingle. I possessed a confidence I hadn't ever had before, I could take care of myself here in this new town. I didn't need anyone's help but my own.


	3. Chapter 3

After I came home from the grocery store, I spent the rest of the morning cleaning. Cleaning was always a calming activity for me, and I knew if I found myself idle, I wouldn't be able to hold it together for very long. I moved from room to room, avoiding the unsettling feeling of being inside a stranger’s home. Reasonably I knew this was not a stranger’s home, this had been my home for a time. Now, I suppose it was my home, again. I gathered a small pile of things that I would eventually move to the garage, and left the nursery untouched for the time being.

My confidence in finding a job was quickly replaced by anxiety as I considered the reality of what I had done. I had run thousands of miles away from home. Sure, I was 18, I was legally an adult. I was free to make my own decisions, but that didn’t mean that those decisions didn’t have consequences. My mother would kill me if she knew what I had done, where I had gone. Then again, having been missing for more than 24 hours now, I was shocked that I still had not heard from her. I checked my phone periodically throughout the day, each time with my heart in my throat, and each time I was more than a little disappointed to have no missed calls.

In order to keep myself from dwelling too long on the consequences of this very irrational thing I had done, I began to make a list of all of the things I intended to accomplish that day, with an additional list of projects that I hoped I could accomplish that week. I pulled all of the dishes out of the cupboards, washed and dried them, and returned them to their spot, wiping out the accumulated dust from the shelves as I went. I stripped the upstairs bedroom of all of the linens and washed them in the aging washer and dryer in the garage, making a mental note to replace the slightly congealed laundry detergent on my next trip to the grocery store. I dug through the toiletries in the closet at the top of the stairs, throwing away empty tubes of toothpaste, dusty shampoo bottles, faded and empty prescription containers. The house was fairly empty of valuable possessions, save for a flat screen TV in the living room. I found a dusty, fraying Mariners hat in the closet.

All of these mundane things gave me the opportunity to get to know this man (I reminded myself that he was my father) intimately. This investigation lead me to a few conclusions: Charlie had likely spent most of his time working, and his life was comfortingly routine. He bought the same products, the same toothpaste, the same soap, he had two sets of greying white sheets, I found a couple of plastic garbage bags full of empty cans in the garage (all of them the same type of beer). Given the age of some of the items, he hadn't made many changes to the house after my mother and I were gone. The aging couch in the living room had a worn indentation in one cushion, but was fairly untouched in the rest of the cushions. A few of the buttons on the remote for the TV were worn smooth, while others looked brand new. His wardrobe consisted of his police uniform, the rest of his closet filled with a few pairs of rugged and well loved-looking blue jeans, a few white t-shirts, and a couple threadbare flannel button up shirts. 

I unpacked my remaining possessions, and placed them around the house. It felt strangely comforting to hang my clothes among his, to put my toothbrush in his spot in the bathroom, to drop my shoes next to his in the foyer. I took the opportunity to inhale that home-scent deeply while I completed my tasks. As I worked to make this space my home, it was almost beginning to feel normal, as of I were only settling in while Charlie was away. A part of me almost expected him to walk through the front door, and it triggered something in me that I had thought was lost. I missed him deeply, and yet there was something else that was overtaking that feeling, a connection with him that I could only ever daydream about. This connection felt good, and for the first time since I had arrived in Forks, I was no longer in a state of mourning. I was breathing life back into the Charlie Swan that I never had the chance to know.

Evening fell quickly and heavily. The gloomy overcast drizzle gave way to a muffled twilight. Having lived in metropolitan areas for most of my conscious life, I was slightly unsettled at how quiet the area surrounding this house was. I wondered idly what might be in those woods, and I was tempted to google what sort of critters were common to this area. Not wanting to spook myself further, I set that thought aside for the time being. 

As I finished my intended chores, I took a moment to step outside on the back deck. There were a few grimy plastic lawn chairs tucked against the house next to a covered grill. I brought out a grease stained towel and spread it across one of the chairs. I settled into the chair and stared out into the dark woods that surrounded the house on two sides. 

It was strange to sit in silence like this. I was not well practiced in the act of simply _being_. My mother and I could be described as actively avoidant of our feelings. Talking about them, or even indulging them was most certainly not allowed. As a child, if something upset me, or if I started crying, my mother would get this pinched look on her face, and she’d send me to my room so that I would calm myself down. Looking back, I think she might have felt guilty that she was incapable of coping with a child’s strong emotional tides. She probably thought she was giving me the tools to self-soothe, making me more resilient. She may have been have been right, but I would never have the opportunity to know that for certain.

I blinked and realized that while I was lost in thought, my eyes had filled with tears. I had cried more in the last two days than in the past two years. I let out a heavy sigh, trying to dispel the intense roller coaster of feelings I seemed to be on. Suppressing a shiver, I wrapped my arms around myself and stood up to go back inside. Just as I was about to cross the threshold back into the warm home, the drizzle stopped and low clouds parted long enough to let a brilliant and almost supernatural full moon peak out. Goosebumps rippled across my skin; feeling sufficiently spooked, I stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind me. 

I yawned and dropped myself heavily onto the couch, kicking my feet up on to the ottoman. It struck me how normal this action felt, how natural. I felt more settled in this strange home after only 24 hours than I had ever felt in Renee’s home. Strange, before now I had never realized that I thought of it exclusively as Renee’s home. A deep ache in my chest was feeling lighter the longer I was away from Phoenix. I laughed humorlessly at myself at how quickly I was swinging between these strong emotional states. I figured I must need sleep.

I made my way upstairs to the bedroom, slowly changed out of my now 2 day old clothes, brushed my teeth, and crawled into the freshly laundered sheets. _I can do this whole adult thing_ , I thought to myself as I drifted off to sleep. _I can do this._

* * *

 

The next morning I woke up disoriented. It took me a while to figure out where I was, and even longer to figure out what I was supposed to be doing. I glanced at my phone, and realized that if I wanted to make it to work on time, I needed to get up and get moving. I thrilled a little at the thought of getting up to go to work, the whole thing felt very mature and routine, and I carried a lingering sense of pride from the previous night. I rolled out of bed and padded my way downstairs into the kitchen. I fished out the coffee suppliesI had purchased the day before from the freshly cleaned pantry and set out to make a pot of coffee. 

While I waited for the brew to finish, I gazed out of the little window over the sink and our onto the side yard. Now that it was daylight, I could see that there was no boundary that marked the edge of the property, rather the dense forest encroached on the house threateningly. Or perhaps it was protectively? My perspective on many things had shifted in the very short time I was in Forks, WA. Soon, I found myself pulling out of the driveway and out onto the main street, creeping toward Newton’s Outfitters in the morning commute ‘traffic’. 

Just as it had the day previously, the tiny bell above the door tinkled to announce my arrival as I stepped into the shop. Leaning against the same glass display of knives was the shop owner, and my cheeks flushed with embarrassment as I realized I had never even asked his name.

“Bella!” he called warmly, stepping out from behind the counter to clasp my hand in both of his. I was oddly aware of how warm his hands were. 

“So, you weren’t scared off!” he chuckled. My blush deepened.

“No, sir.” I said, unsure of what to say but knowing that I needed to respond with something.

“Please, call me John.” He smiled knowingly, and took a step back. 

“Thank you again for coming onboard. I really needed the help.” He seemed very at home in his domain, gazing proudly around the showroom, before his eyes returned to mine.

“Happy to help” I said, starting to regain the confidence I had lost upon entering the shop. 

“Well!” He clapped, “let me show you around!” John turned and began to walk slowly through the store, pausing occasionally to explain how he ran things.

The morning passed quickly as I took in all of the information. He pulled out a peeling plastic binder and showed me where to clock in for the day, I noted the handwritten shift schedules that he had made previously, alluding to his lack of modernization. I could tell that he was genuinely happy to have help, and as I took in more of how he ran the business, I began to understand how I could add value. Eventually, the first customers of the day began to filter in, and I settled myself in the back office at the ancient desktop computer that was nearly buried under piles of inventory orders.

I spent the first couple of hours entering the current shift schedule into a spreadsheet, futzing with the formatting until is was clear and easy to read. A sense of pride in my work began to creep its way into awareness, and by the time John came back into the office to take a break for lunch, I had already digitized that week’s shift schedule, the past two weeks of timesheets, and was beginning to work on creating a digital version of the inventory lists that I found scattered around the back office.

“How are things back here,” he asked cheerily, “have I scared you off yet?” I shot him a genuine smile, and began to explain what I had accomplished in my first few hours. John was thrilled by my progress.

“This is fantastic, Bella!” he leaned in excitedly to look at the computer screen, “This is something I’ve wanted to finish for a while now, but I every time I sit down to do it, I’m never able to figure this computer out.” I pushed myself back from the desk and got to my feet, gently stretching my stiff muscles from sitting at the computer all morning.

“Great work so far, Bella. I can tell we’re going to be very thankful to have you around.” John rounded to face me and I felt myself beaming in response. I was truly pleased with the work I had done. I felt a foreign sort-of confidence wash over me. For a few hours, I had forgotten that I was essentially a teenage runaway, that I was living in a dead man’s house thousands of miles from home, that I was technically still in high school, that I had no plan for what I was going to do next.

“Why don’t you step out for lunch and I’ll see you back here at—” John glanced at his watch, “twelve forty-five?” I nodded and thanked him. 

Stepping out of the shop, I was surprised to find that a bit of sunlight was beginning to make its way through the overcast skies and the air was considerably drier and warmer than it had been when I first left my house in the morning. Unsure of where to go, I picked a random direction and began to walk through the bustling downtown shopping district. Passing a few shops where mothers and their children were browsing, I was reminded of the regular Sunday afternoon walks my mother and I would take when I was younger. Wherever we were living at the time, we would stroll down the street window shopping and pretending to browse for things we certainly couldn’t afford. I felt an odd pang of sadness when I realized that it had been many years since we had done anything like that together. I wasn’t sure when our relationship had changed, but as I reflected on it, I realized that we had grown quite distant in the last few years. Our relationship had become colder and more antagonistic with time.

I was lost in thought when I felt my body collide with another person, sending us both tumbling to the ground. I quickly gathered myself and was already apologizing profusely when I began to stand up. The other person was also getting to their feet, and as they turned to look at me, I realized it was the same woman from the grocery store. I blushed immediately, realizing that now she had seen me make a klutzy fool of myself not once but twice now.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, as she also recognized me from the day before, “it’s you!” I found myself flustered and unable to respond, my mouth gaping open and closed like a fish.

“I am _so_ sorry about that, are you alright?” she asked kindly, her sincerity shining brightly in her warm brown eyes.

“Are _you_ alright?” I spluttered, once I regained the ability of human speech. I heard a light snickering just to my right, and I realized there was another person standing with us. It was the teenage girl from the parking lot, she was standing safely on the curb, away from the commotion I had caused. She had an amused expression on her face, her pixie-like haircut and narrow features accentuated a carefree and almost supernatural quality about her.

“Please excuse my daughter,” I snapped my attention back to the woman I had collided with, realizing that I was beginning to stare, “Are you alright, did you hurt yourself?” she pressed again.

“Oh, I’m fine.” I said quickly, smiling in what I hoped was an appeasing smile. 

“I’m Alice!” the girl to my right said brightly, thrusting her hand forward to shake mine. I returned the gesture automatically. 

“Esme,” the older woman added, she smiled serenely and reached for my hand as I let go of Alice’s. They both looked at me expectantly and I realized that I had forgotten to offer my own name in return.

“Bella,” I blurted awkwardly after a moment. 

“Are you new to the area, Bella?” Esme asked. The way Esme said my name made something in the pit of my stomach uncomfortably warm.

“I just got here” I said, “I just started working over at Newton’s Outfitters,” I added unhelpfully. I realized after a moment that perhaps I should be less forthcoming with information, I have no way of knowing if I was in any serious trouble for having run away. Not broadcasting my identity and whereabouts seemed like a safe choice. 

As if sensing my overwhelm or perhaps my mounting anxiety, Esme smiled warmly, gathered her shopping bags that had fallen to the ground.

“Well, Bella it was lovely to meet you. I hope I’ll see you around” Esme said, my relief was palpable.

“Bye Bella!” Alice called brightly as they began to walk away. She waved at me from over her shoulder, seemingly bouncing as she walked. I weakly returned her wave before turning around and taking a steadying breath. Two awkward interactions in two days with these women. I felt my cheeks begin to heat up with embarrassment. I took another deep breath and attempted to shake off the experience, continuing on in my search of a place to eat lunch.


	4. Chapter 4

The remainder of my first day of work passed quickly. John Newton invited me to spend the rest of my time on the sales floor. Thankfully it was a slow Sunday, and not many customers came in. We spent the rest of our time chatting, John was overly pleased to share details about his family. He was happily married to his wife Karen, who sometimes helped out in the store. He had a son, Michael, who was about my age, and the subtle waggle of his eyebrows as he mentioned this fact did not go unnoticed by me. I tried my best not to grimace.

He had lived in Forks his whole life, opening the store shortly after Mike was born. He laughed cheerfully as he recounted stories of attempting to stock camping supplies with an infant son. His best friend owned the grocery store down the street, and his wife was in the process of opening Forks’ first beauty spa and salon. I felt a strange twinge of jealousy, listening to John recount these hometown stories, it all seemed so tranquil and homely. I realized that if I was being honest with myself, the reality was not nearly as rosy as I was imagining. However, after spending so much time traveling and moving with my mother, I had never had the opportunity to get to know the people in my community, let alone enough time to become friends with them.

Again, I found myself imagining what my life would be like had I grown up in Forks. Each time I pictured it, the more clear and substantial this daydream became. I could see myself strolling up and down the shopping center with Charlie and Renee, stopping into the small boutiques, catching up with old friends. Attending birthday parties of the kids in my neighborhood, riding bikes until the sun went down. I shook my head to clear the images, it would do no good to long for an idyllic version of the past. I reminded myself firmly that I was here now, and if it was something I wanted, I could stay and make a life here. I could fulfill those daydreams for myself.

I tried my best to be friendly with John without offering too much information about myself. I still believed that if I volunteered too much information, my secret would be discovered. I was unclear about what legitimate consequences might await me for running away from home. Yes, I was 18, but I was still in high school, and I had simply gotten up left everything behind in Phoenix. I still hadn’t heard from my mother, and the longer the day went on, the less and less I expected to. Surprisingly, I found myself hoping that she never tried to contact me. Initially, I left impulsively and out of anger. But now? I was beginning to feel more confident in my choice to stay. Being alone was starting to feel like relief, a lessening of a heavy pressure that I wasn’t aware of, and I didn’t want it to return.

Near dinner time, John announced with a fake southern drawl, that it was “quittin’ time”. I had never worked a full 8 hour day before, and I found that I quite enjoyed myself. John informed me that he would expect me back at the same time the following morning, and we would continue to work on some of the processes I had begun to set up. I waved cheerily to him as I left the shop. For the first time in a long time, I felt genuinely carefree as I loaded into the truck and drove home.

As I pulled into the driveway, I was pleased to discover that it was indeed real, I had been half expecting this whole day to be a fever dream. I gathered my things where I had tossed them in the passenger seat and headed inside. I kicked off my shoes at the door and dropped my keys on the small table in the foyer. Again, like yesterday, I was struck by how “normal” this all felt, coming home after work. 

Wandering into the kitchen, I opened the fridge aimlessly, pondering what I would make myself for dinner. I didn’t have many groceries, and I still hadn’t been paid yet. I didn’t want to go back to the grocery store, so I settled on the frozen waffles I had bought the day previously. Less than an hour later, I was munching on toasted waffles and peanut butter, flipping through channels on the flat screen in the living room, too distracted to pay attention to any one program. 

I thought about what Renee might be doing at this moment, I wondered whether she was looking for me. I checked my phone again only to find that I still had not missed any calls or texts. I would be lying if I didn’t admit that my feelings were hurt that she hadn’t attempted to contact me. I knew I was being petulant and childish, and I briefly considered being the first to reach out to her. Perhaps this was her plan, to hold out long enough that I was the one who had to come crawling back to her. I could feel my heart rate beginning to rise as I tried to read into whatever hidden message she was trying to send by not contacting me. I knew I would be in trouble, I didn’t know if that meant the kind of trouble that the police got involved in, but I knew it wouldn’t be fun. 

For a moment, I considered the parallelism in our two stories. We both had run away in the night, running from something intangible and not well understood. I doubted that her motivations were the same as mine, but then again, I was also only starting to pick apart what my true motivations were. It had seemed so simple in the beginning: to see the place where I had been born, the place where Charlie had died. Now it sounded like a thin excuse, I uprooted my own life, flew thousands of miles away, and in nearly 48 hours, established an entirely different life for myself. I could have easily taken one look inside the house, maybe taken a few knick-knacks or mementos and turned around and gone right home. But I didn’t do that, I made the choice to stay. I hadn’t realized there had even been a choice to make, perhaps that was the lesson to learn about growing up, that life if full of choices, regardless of whether or not they were immediately visible.

I realized I my breathing had sped up as my mind abstracted and ping-ponged off the idea of growing up. I drifted back around examining the differences between the childhood experiences I did have, and the ones I was rapidly fabricating in my head. I started to feel a bit woozy. I probed the uncomfortable feeling further, and realized that there were layers of pain and sadness that were previously unknown to me. What surprised me most, however, was the faint taste of bitterness and rage that was building quietly under all that pain. I was so angry, I wasn’t sure why yet, but as I probed further, my palms began to tingle, and I felt myself begin to detach from my body. To the soundtrack of my own blood rushing in my ears, I came screaming back into myself, near the peak of a spectacular panic attack. 

I stood quickly, shaking, and groped my way into the kitchen. I wanted to run, run, run, _RUN_ , until I had run all of the breath out of me. Logically, I knew these were the hallmarks of the Bella Brand(TM) of Panic Attacks, but it didn’t lessen the urge to flee one bit. I felt my way into the cupboard, my sweaty fingers clasped a tall glass. Somehow I managed to fill it with tap water and bring it to my mouth without dropping it. The sensation of the cool water flowing past my lips, tongue, and throat brought me back a little. I could still feel the adrenaline surging through my central nervous system. I sat down heavily (I might have just… _fallen?_ ) on the kitchen floor, and scooted back until I was pressed against the cabinet below the sink. The sensation of my back against the pressboard of the cabinet door calmed me. The remainder of my senses began to return slowly.

I was unaware of how much time passed while I was still sitting on the kitchen floor. I might have dozed off. When I felt steady enough, I used the counter to pull myself up very, very carefully to return my water glass to the sink. I forced myself to take a few deep breaths, while I stared at my reflection in the window overlooking the yard. My hands gripped the edge of the sink tightly, my knuckles turning white. I studied my own reflection, anxiety had made me look older and more gaunt than usual. I rubbed the heels of my hands vigorously over my face to bring some color back into my cheeks. The same face stared back, now perhaps slightly flushed. I ran a more gentle hand across my forehead and through my hair, and felt more like myself. I decided now was as good of a time as any to call it a night.

I ran through my bedtime routine, and I found it soothing that I was beginning to re-establish the routines I had for myself in Phoenix. Only this time, I was setting my own pace. I slipped into Charlie's bed (I was still having a difficult time thinking of it as my own) and was asleep as soon as I closed my eyes.

* * *

 

The next morning was pleasingly uneventful, I arrived at my second day of work without incident. John was thrilled to see me as the bell above the door tinkled to announce my arrival.

“So you’ve decided to come back!” he said, louder than was probably necessary. I shot back a genuine smile, and felt myself blushing. 

“The grocery store didn’t have any open positions.” I said, and raised an eyebrow slightly. John grinned and walked around the counter display to clap me on the shoulder. 

“Well, you don’t seem one for packing groceries.” He said, his eyes literally twinkling. 

We launched into the tasks I would be accomplishing on my second day. Like the day before, I filled my morning with operationalizing some of John’s older, more handwritten, processes. In the afternoon, I moved out of the back office and onto the sales floor, to shadow John during the stream of sporadic Monday afternoon customers. I knew at some point I would have to interact directly with the customers, alone. This made my insides squirm uncomfortably, but I was dedicated to making this job work. This job meant I could sustain a life of my choosing, and right now, that was more important to me than anything.

In the late afternoon, just as things were beginning to wind down, the front door tinkled, announcing a customer’s arrival. I looked up, and was mildly mortified to realize that it was Alice, daughter of the woman I had run into twice now.

“Alice!” John said, in his usual, slightly-too-loud-but-happy tone of his, “what can I do for you today? Another camping trip coming up?”

The young woman nearly danced to the display behind which John and I were standing.

“Getting warmer every day! Almost time for it!” she said brightly, “but no, I’m actually here for Bella.”

She turned to me and winked when she said my name. A thrill went through me, I wasn’t entirely sure that it was simply embarrassment.

“Don’t you go taking my finest employee away from me now, Cullen.” John said grinning, and quietly made himself busy in the back office to give us some privacy.

“How are you?” Alice asked kindly, as soon as John had left. The question took me aback, this was not at all what I had expected Alice to open with.

“You do remember me, don’t you? From yesterday?” Alice asked. I nodded quickly.

“Yeah, I’m good, thanks.” I said, a bit more curt than I would have preferred.

I cleared my throat uncomfortably. Alice smiled knowingly, as if supernaturally sensing my discomfort.

“I wanted to invite you to dinner, to apologize for yesterday.” Alice said, she was gently rocking back and forth across the balls of her feet, looking as if she was trying to contain a great deal of excitement.

“Oh you don’t—“ I began, but Alice cut me off before I could get much further.

“Its with my family, at our house.” She said quickly. 

I struggled to find my next words. _Did she just invite me over for dinner, with her family?_  

“You’re new here, I figured you might not know many folks in town yet.” I felt strangely defensive when she said that, I didn’t quite yet understand why.

“I know Arthur Nylund” I blurted out, before I realized what I was saying.

Alice smiled and nodded, letting my awkward outburst slide without incident. 

“So, are you in? For dinner?” Alice looked hopeful, I felt a strong urge to say yes, as to not disappoint her.

I pulled at my sleeve, I had made a choice to keep my priorities above everyone else’s. I wanted to do things because _I_ wanted them, not because I was trying to please someone else. Still looking down at my wrist, I forced myself to consider whether or not I wanted to go. 

“That sounds great” it was out before I knew what I was saying. I looked back up at Alice, and she was beaming even brighter than I thought possible. She literally jumped (a frustratingly graceful motion) with excitement when I said yes.

“Yay!” She squealed. “Okay! I’ll come by and pick you up at 7!” I gaped at her.

“Tonight?!” She was already turning to make her way out of the store. “You don’t even know where I live!” I called, but she was already out the door.

I took a deep steadying breath, feeling as if I had just agreed to more than family dinner.

“Sounds like you’ve got a fun night planned.” I jumped, John was standing in the doorway in the office, clearly having overheard our very brief conversation.

I cleared my throat and began to arrange the loose papers near the register. 

“Um, yeah.” I suddenly wanted very much for the floor to open up and swallow me whole.

I’m sure if I had been looking in a mirror, my deeply blushing face would have stared back at me. John chuckled but mercifully didn’t press the issue any further. 

* * *

 

The remainder of my shift passed far too quickly for my rapidly mounting anxiety. Before I knew it, I was sitting in the driveway, behind the wheel of Charlie’s truck ( _mine_ , I had to keep reminding myself). I rested my head against the steering wheel and groaned. Ideally, I would have a couple of nights to psych myself up for this dinner. I knew nothing about Alice and her family other than the fact that I hip checked her mom into the sidewalk just two days ago. It took a couple of minutes to gather myself, but I eventually made it inside and changed into the only other outfit I had brought with me. I made a mental note to make sure to pick up some extra clothes with my first paycheck. 

I was standing in the kitchen, sipping on a glass of water, when Alice’s insistent knock sounded at the door. I closed my eyes and gathered myself before answering the door.  Alice stood on the porch, basking in the last few moments of daylight. She already had her arm outstretched, and as soon as I stepped across the threshold, she had my hand locked in hers and was pulling me out the door, chattering excitedly. I didn’t catch much of what she was saying. She pulled me to the passenger side of an overly clean and glossy car, and a part of my brain registered that it must have been expensive, but I didn’t have enough knowledge of cars to know for certain.

The stereo flashed and began to play as Alice started the car, briefly interrupting her lengthy monologue (that I suddenly realized I hadn’t heard a single word of). The music filtered into my brain as I began to relax into the ridiculously comfortable passenger seat.

“You’re gonna love them, Bella.” Alice said brightly, turning to glance at me as we pulled out on to the main road.

Her actual words began to filter into her brain.

“Hmm?” I said intelligently. _Good one, Bella_. Alice winked at me knowingly.

“My family, they’re going to love you.” She repeated, I was relieved that she didn’t seem the least bit bothered by my space-cadet behavior. 

“Is this Rynn?” I asked, gesturing at the stereo.

“It is! You know her?” I nodded and Alice surreptitiously turned the volume up a few levels. I felt a subwoofer begin to buzz slightly from the trunk. I tried not to imagine how expensive this whole setup might be.

The rest of the ride felt slightly less uncomfortable as we settled into a kind of silence, listening to a couple tracks on Alice’s playlist. I had almost calmed my nerves down by the time we pulled off the main road and onto a rougher gravel road flanked by massive Douglas firs.

Alice turned the music down as a large, modern looking structure came into view. I tried hard not to gasp, it was stunning. A delicate blend of classic victorian and post modern glass and steel. It looked as if this modern, geometric structure had physically grown from the dark gingerbread home. It was a bouquet of sharp edges and curved glass, tastefully paired with intimate touches of a more classic beauty. The front yard was bare, save for a few massive fir trees that looked as if they’d been there long before the house was built.

“Its beautiful,” I said quietly, unaware that I was speaking aloud.

“Esme designed it. She’s an architect.” Alice said, pulling to a stop outside a massive looking garage.

I tried not to imagine how many cars might fit inside a garage like that.

“She’s really talented.” I said, getting out of the car. As we climbed the half dozen porch steps to the front door, my heart began to thud uncomfortably as I ascended each step. Partially from the exertion, but I mostly because I did not know what to expect on the other side of that door. 

Before Alice could even put her hand on the door handle, the door swung open to reveal Esme standing in the foyer, a hand towel thrown over her shoulder, looking slightly mussed, but in the most impossibly delicate way.

“Bella!” Esme said warmly, and before I could object I was being pulled into a warm hug. I coughed and tried my best not to move until it was over.

“Thank you so much for coming, we’re so happy to have you.” Esme pulled away and took a short step back, positively beaming.

_Is everyone this fucking happy?_

Alice swept passed Esme into the rest of the house and disappeared, shouting unintelligibly at someone inside. Esme turned back again, a slightly mischievous tone in her voice. 

“Come on inside, dear, we don’t bite.” Esme said with a wink.

I did my best to unclench my jaw and breathe as I closed the distance across the porch, and was promptly ushered inside the Cullen home.

 


End file.
